


Not Lost on Me

by SweatersAndScarves



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bullying, Depression, Gen, Johnlock Angst, M/M, Self Harm, Teen Sherlock, Teenlock, can be read as johnlock if desired but not cannon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-28
Updated: 2014-05-28
Packaged: 2018-01-26 20:54:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1702205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweatersAndScarves/pseuds/SweatersAndScarves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock gets beat up.<br/>Again,<br/>but of course John is there to 'save the day' in the emotionally awkward way that John's do. And Sherlock, of course, freaks out that he is going to lose John, and pushes him away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Lost on Me

**Author's Note:**

> I did this on omegle and basically pasted it together into a one shot, if you were my John (who by the way is clearly a superior writer) pretty please tell me, because you are fantastic

John's phone buzzed.

-message from- Sherlock Holmes. 5:30pm.

* * *

Sorry I didn't meet you after class. I was in detention. -SH

  
What did you do this time? -JW

  
I got into a fight, if you ask the hall monitor-SH

  
(John could almost see the look of hatred on Sherlock's face as he read the message.)

I'm not asking the hall monitor. I'm asking you.-JW

  
I personally don't think five 16/17 year old rugby players on one 15 year old is a fight, but it wasn't my call.-SH

 

Well it is a fight, but it's one sided. -JW

(He paused for a minute before sending the next text.)

Did you say something to any of them? -JW

  
Yes, well, the wrong side of this fight got in trouble... Are you implying that this is my fault? -SH  
(Sherlock felt sick as he read John's message, he thought John was his friend, but maybe he had misunderstood their relationship)

 

No. I am simply saying that this wouldn't be the first time your words got you in trouble. -JW

 

(Sherlock's head pounded, John seemed to be growing annoyed with him, but he still felt the compulsion to prove it wasn't his fault. That he was right)

I explained why one of them got an answer wrong, and walked away with a sprained ankle, wrist, and black eye. But maybe I just shouldn't talk anymore. -SH

(He was feeling a strange mixture of hopeless sadness, and anger)

I always forget that I have to be the problem, because aside from you everyone else hates me, so it has to be my fault. I get it. I'm a prick, thanks for the reminder. -SH

 

Can I come over? -JW

 

Why would you want to do that? -SH

 

(John sighed, Sherlock always had to be difficult)

Because I care about you, and you have just informed me that you have two sprained limbs and a black eye. Really, I shouldn't need to explain why. -JW

 

Shouldn't risk spending too much time with you. I might say something dumb and make you want to beat me up. -SH

Sherlock don't. -JW

 

Don't what?. -SH

 

Don't say things like that. You'll only make yourself upset. -JW

 

It's facts, history, data. I'm not making myself upset, I'm formulating theories, I'm unlikable you've just said it yourself.- SH

History is doomed to repeat it's self. All I can do is prolong the process. SH

 

Sherlock stop. Let me come over. I want to check up on you. -JW

 

Fine. Come, but I'm not going to talk. Don't try and talk to me. -SH

 

Okay fine. If you're that worried about history repeating itself think back to our history. Have I ever beaten you up? -JW

 

No, but soon enough you'll grow tired of me, and then we will stop talking, you'll become just one of the crowd and some day you will. -SH

The spare key is in it's usual spot. Mycroft is on business, I am in my room. -SH

 

You can be so thick sometimes. _JW

I'm on my way over. _JW

 

See it's starting. -SH

 

I always call you thick, and you always call me an idiot. It hasn't driven me away yet, and if it hasn't by now it never will. HIstory is doomed to repeat itself? Then you're stuck with me for a long time. -JW

 

I would say lets hope so, but I'm not one for hope. Hope is always false. -SH

Text me when you're here. -SH

 

You should try it some time. Lord knows it's the only thing that keeps me going some days. -JW

I'll let you know when I get there, but I'm going to keep texting even if you don't reply. -JW

 

What could I possibly hope for? Anything I could possibly want has already been spoilt. My parents spend 95% of their time on business, they have since I was 6, and now I've become too much for Mycroft as well. He's spent 60% of this past month away. Face it John I drive people away. I bring awful things upon myself. You've said it yourself. -SH

 

I'm still here, and while I know I will never be enough doesn't that count as something? -JW

 

Until I drive you away as well. -SH

 

You wont. -JW

 

The east wind takes all in the end John. My Mum didn't even show for my last birthday. -SH

 

Congrats, your Mum is absolute shit like mine. Welcome to the club. -JW

The east wind can piss off. -JW

 

If I was able to repel family when I could hardly talk I think I can easily make you hate me without realizing. -SH

 

Bullshit. -JW

* * *

 

Sherlock tossed his phone to the foot of his bed, and climbed under his covers, taking to his regular thinking position. His room was a pitch black mess, the sole exception; the corner where his violin case sat sadly. It would be unused for weeks as his wrist healed.

Sherlock was wearing jeans and a tee-shirt. Five patches were slapped messily over a few scabbed over cuts on his arm, he'd hoped they would help him think, but so far the hope had been in vain, just as he'd told John minutes before.

He Guessed he would have John for a maximum of three more weeks, and their previous conversation only strengthened that fear. He had known from the beginning it wouldn't last, repeatedly telling himself not to get use to John's company, but somehow he had, and when John stopped coming around it would be his fault. It was always his fault.

 

John cursed when Sherlock stopped responding, and stuffed his phone into his pocket, as he continued to walk to Sherlock's home. He didn't have the money for a cab, because had spent all his money for a box biscuits that Sherlock liked, because if John knew Sherlock (which he did) the boy hadn't eaten in a few days.  
The walk wasn't a particularly strenuous one, and JOhn quickly arrived at his friends door. He grabbed the spare from it's spot in the planted, unlocked the door tossed the key back in it's spot, then closed and locked it.  
Immediately he went to Sherlock's room, and entered without so much as knocking, "Look Sherlock" He started as soon as he was completely in the room, Ignoring the low light level, "What I'm about to say is really important. I need you to pay attention, alright? He asked.

 

Sherlock tugged on the blanet so it no longer covered his head, his hair was a floppy tangled mess, partially because that was just how it fell, and partially because of the fight. He gave JOhn a look that was supposed to mean 'go on',

 John let out a huff of air and began pacing the room, as he thought about what to say, then stopped directly in front of the foot of the bed.  
"My mom takes enough pills that her hands shake 24/7 and she forgets my name. My dad was an abusive drunk, who would hit Mum Harry, and me 'till we were black and blue before he died in a car accident, and now Harry drinks just as much as he use to, if not _more_. She doesn't talk to me at all"  
He stopped to breathe before continuing.  
  
"I have no one but you, and if you think being a drama queen is going to push me away then think again, because I refuse to loose my relationship with you as well" John said, as he pulled the box of biscuits out of his backpack and thrusted them at Sherlock  
"Eat these, you look to damn thin"

He sunk to the foot of the bed with his back to Sherlock.

 

Sherlock himself was not one for taking orders, but he was so shocked, slightly scared, upset, and out of it in general, that he just took the box from John and put a biscuit, in his mouth, chewing it slowly, then placing the box beside him.

"I was- I wasn't trying to be a drama queen" He finally said  
"I'm not trying to hurt you John. I'm not trying, I'm just an awful person and terrible at dealing with people" His voice was sore, and rough. He slid the box to the edge of the bed , back to John. So far the only thing to leave the blanket was his head, and clean arm.

 

"Well you are" John responded over his shoulder, "I hate it when you talk like that, it hurts me that you think I'll leave you some day just because you're you" He muttered, and pushing the offered box back towards Sherlock.  
"I don't want any. I got them for you since I know you skip out on meals" He paused before turning around, "I'm sorry for calling you a drama queen, but you need to stop saying things like that. Sure your social skills aren't great, but I'm still here, so obviously you're a good person, I can try to help you with the social stuff, but no more calling yourself terrible names and saying that I'll leave because I won't"

"I'm sorry" Sherlock mumbled."Mycroft thinks I have attachment issues, but for your sake I will stop verbally calling myself names and saying that you're going to leave" He pulled the blanket back over his head like a hood  
"Or well he thought, I haven't spoken to him much in the past few months" He added under his breath.

John nodded and let out a soft sigh, "well it's a start, and for the time being it's good enough" He looked at Sherlock in his odd little cocoon on blankets, "Aren't you warm wrapped up like that?" He ran a hand through his hair, then paused, "can I turn on a light and look at your wrist?"

"It's fine I think, and I'm cold without them" Sherlock responded quietly.

John stood still for a second, then shed his jumper and shoes, climbed onto the bed, and untangled the mess of blankets, climbing in with Sherlock, and pulled him closer, so they were laying a few inches from each other, "Does this help?" He asked with a smile

"I think it does, just a little" Sherlock murmured, It was at that point when he remembered the patches. John disapproved of them, and now was the wrong time for that argument to resurface, He pulled them off his arm, as discreetly as he could, though this left the scabs visible on his arm, he figured John wouldn't be able to figure what they were.

John could feel Sherlock's arm moving , and careful as to not touch the wounded wrist, ran his hand up and down his arm, fingers hitting one scab, then another, "Sherlock, are these..."John left the question unfinished, not really wanting to finish.

 

 


End file.
